


Burnt

by Black_Zora



Series: Auf Rabenflügeln [9]
Category: Krabat | The Satanic Mill - Otfried Preußler
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Zora/pseuds/Black_Zora
Summary: A short, fluffy scene between Witko and Lobosch that didn't make it into "Verwandlungen."
Relationships: Witko/Lobosch
Series: Auf Rabenflügeln [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/558220
Kudos: 2





	Burnt

Witko was busy in the kitchen, shaking breadcrumbs off pieces of cloth he had used to wrap today's lunch in, and into a bowl in which he collected chicken grub. 

The others had been making hay all day long, while Witko had gone about his usual duties in and about the house. At noon, he had brought food to the meadow, and sat down with his fellows to eat, before he had returned to the mill again.

When he was done with the cloths, Witko cleaned the kitchen counter with a wet rag. 

Light footsteps approached from the servant's room. 

He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Moments later, Lobosch hugged him from behind. Something appeared to be off though. His friend suppressed a grunt of pain as Witko leaned back against him. 

Concerned, he stepped out of Lobosch's embrace to look at him. “What's wrong with you?” he inquired. 

Lobosch moved his shoulders in a jerky, uncomfortable shrug. “Sunburn. I should have listened to Hanzo, and not taken my shirt off ….”

“You can take it off again now. I have something that might help …”

Witko went over to a small shelf that held several jars and vials. Many of those, Juro had prepared. Briefly, he halted, before he took one of the vials and turned back to Lobosch. 

In the meantime, Lobosch had shed his shirt. Even in the dim light of the kitchen, his back, chest, shoulders, and upper arms were an angry shade of red. 

Witko uncorked the vial, and coated his hands in the red oil it contained. “Now, keep still,” he ordered, and put his hands on Lobosch's shoulders. 

Lobosch winced, and sucked in a breath. Carefully, with light, gentle touches, Witko began to distribute the oil onto his skin. 

Lobosch sighed. “That feels good …” 

Witko smiled in reply, and pressed a kiss to his clavicle. 

“Hmmm … That feels even better …”

Lobosch stood there, his skin glistening with oil, sometimes hissing with pain, sometimes sighing with delight, while Witko worked the remedy in. He kept smiling at Lobosch's reactions, and started to feel warm allover as his hands traveled down Lobosch's arms, then up again. He pressed another kiss to his skin, this time to the nape of his neck. Lobosch breathed in deeply, and Witko let his hands wander to his chest. 

There was a strange noise from the doorway – half gasp, half groan. 

Hastily, Witko turned around, feeling his cheeks heat up. He expected the worst, which would have been Hanzo, Lyschko, or the Master – in this exact succession. But it was only the apprentice. 

“Don't put your shirt back one,” Witko warned Lobosch, even though his friend had made no move to do so. “It stains.” 

Then he turned to the apprentice again. “What is it, Mischka?” He said in a friendly tone of voice. The boy was not a threat to them. 

Mischka hesitated. He looked both frightened and oddly hopeful. 

Finally, he said, “Krabat sends me.”

Witko waited, but when no more words came, he gently prompted, “because …?”

Mischka's face turned red. “Because …” 

He spoke so softly that Witko could barely hear him. 

“Because …” Mischka mumbled. “I have a sunburn …”


End file.
